


The "Something Happened" Affair

by svetlanacat4



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svetlanacat4/pseuds/svetlanacat4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UNCLE kept an eye on an abandoned warehouse which looked like to be a cover for some nasty birds' evil purpose. Two days ago, inexplicably, it had blown up. Rummaging through the debris, UNCLE agents didn't find anything except for bodies, smashed to bits furniture, broken glass, unidentified (but probably evil) devices...</p>
<p>Written for the Halloween Challenge on MFUscrapbook</p>
            </blockquote>





	The "Something Happened" Affair

Thanks to Spotsycool for this extraordinary prompt and for my beta Spikesgirl!

[ ](http://svetlanacat4.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/442/1059948)

Hours ago, the place was part of a lovely park. Blue sky emphasizing golden trees, a gentle breeze playing with flaming leaves, sun pleasantly warming the atmosphere... An Impressionist picture of the Fall...

Napoleon Solo peeped at his partner who was watching the alley, and he smiled. Fall... No, Autumn... Autumn suited him so well, blond hair matching the leaves, blue eyes matching the sky...

Said blue eyes were at the moment staring at him inquiringly. Ts ts, Napoleon... He shook his head, pointed his chin at the alley and whispered, “I guess it was just a red herring...”, he hesitated, “I mean, a...”

“I know what a red herring is...” The Russian brushed aside a blond lock, “Red herring or not, we have to stay here...” And he went back to the watching.

A lovely place, pleasant... and deserted. At least, this remote area... Of course, he thought... people were preparing Halloween...

Halloween... He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back against a trunk. UNCLE kept an eye on an abandoned warehouse which looked like to be a cover for some nasty birds' evil purpose. Two days ago, inexplicably, it had blown up. Rummaging through the debris, UNCLE agents didn't find anything except for bodies, smashed to bits furniture, broken glass, unidentified (but probably evil) devices...

***

“ _A false move...” Alexander Waverly stated._

“ _Kind of poetic justice...”, Napoleon Solo smirked._

“ _No.”_

_Two heads turned to the Russian._

“ _No. It wasn't a false move. Someone did it.” He pursed his lips in his usual way. “No poetic justice, just... a very good job.”_

_None of the two others would have called Illya Kuryakin's expertise into question. Jules Cutter himself had kept him an extra month to instruct the explosives and demolition class at the Survival School. Waverly frowned. Napoleon raised an eyebrow._

“ _And there is...” Illya pointed at a very small notebook with a black leather cover, half burnt, “...this.” He picked up his tie clip and opened the notebook, carefully. “Look... there are drawings... flowers..., cauldrons, shoes... And there is a date,...” He blew aside the dust, “... a map. It's just a sketch, but...”_

***

October, the 31st...

“And here we are...” Napoleon sighed. The small notebook was probably just... nothing. Possibly. Or not. Alexander Waverly wouldn't leave any stone unturned.

 

Suddenly, everything flared up.

Trees blazed in a symphony of yellow, orange and red. Sky turned to indigo and ultramarine. Then, there were flashes of pink, purple, violet... and night came.

Napoleon pulled his collar and cursed silently. A distant murmur reminded him of the day, a mix of shrieks, laughter, music. People enjoying Halloween. “Trick or treat...”, he whispered.

They were still watching, uselessly.

The damned park was deserted.

He shrugged his shoulders. No treat for poor UNCLE agents... not even the slightest nasty bird...

 

It wasn't a lovely Autumn Impressionist picture any more. The sandy alley with its large steps turned to be some blurred staircase, dilapidated, treacherous, leading to some hill of Doom. The trees turned to be a dark and frightening forest, their threatening silhouettes showing through a strange mist almost imperceptible, vaguely fluorescent, like fine snow or white ash.

Gloomy.

Out of time.

Out of reality.

“Out of your mind, Napoleon Solo!”, he scolded himself.

 

Suddenly a silver light diffused through the branches, a dazzling spot. The agent stiffened before he realized that it was the moon rising above the alley.

Full moon. Of course.

He was cold. He was hungry. He was bored. Suddenly, he couldn't say when, how, why... things changed. The area was at the moment... silent. No more shrieks, no more laughter. His own breath echoed around. He bent forward.

“Illya...”

“Shhh... Look...”

Look? He frowned and screwed up his eyes. Yes. Something was moving. He couldn't see it. He just felt kind of a discordant sensation in the frozen atmosphere. On the alert, he grabbed his gun.

Something was moving.

Something?

A small animal? A stray cat? A rat?

Or... someone? Sneaking around very, very discreetly...

Invisibly?

A chuckle, close, startled him.

“Illya? Illya, what...?”

“Shhh...” A warm hand brushed his cheek, gently, and his friend turned to him.

Illya...

[ ](http://s1239.beta.photobucket.com/user/svetlanacat6/library/septem)

Pale silvery hair formed a halo around Illya's pale face. Pale? White. No. Translucent.

Pale silvery eyes twinkled, studying him through pale silvery eyelashes.

Silvery.

_Ice Prince..._ Napoleon thought. 

A devastatingly beautiful creature bathed in silver moon light was watching him.

Warm fingers slid down around his neck, pulling him forward, gently though mercilessly.

“Trick or treat?” Words were whispered so close. His own lips could almost read them on Illya's ones. Ice Prince? Not icy. Not icy at all.

Warm.

Burning, setting him on fire in a passionate kiss.

Heat.

Heat of bodies holding each other, intertwining for hours, centuries...

***

_He hauled himself up on the bush, smiled at the lovers and slid down on the black jacket. He rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for. Hugging the leather book, he sneaked out and threw it towards his companions. Then, he pulled something out of his pocket, rubbed it against his sleeve, looked at it with satisfaction and dropped it in the jacket._

***

“Napoleon?”

The voice, though whispering, startled him.

Pale silvery hair formed a halo around Illya's pale face. Pale? White. No. Translucent.

Pale silvery eyes twinkled, studying him through pale silvery eyelashes.

Silvery.

Déjà vu...

The Russian shook his head and chuckled, “We can go back home... Eventually, it was just..” he sighed, “... a trick... Napoleon?” He looked inquiringly at his friend's frowning face. “What...”

Napoleon hesitated. “Something... Something happened... I think that...”

A warm hand was about to give him a tap on his shoulder, brushing his cheek, but Illya Kuryakin withdrew it, obviously taken aback. “Something...” he stopped.

“... Happened.” Napoleon finished.

Illusion? Delusion?

They exchanged a look.

Memories?

The light changed, outlining the trees, the alley.

“Dawn...” Illya whispered. His partner was... gorgeous. Ruffled hair, shadow of a beard, crumpled shirt... hazel eyes sprinkled with warm amber...

“A treat...” Napoleon smiled at the sight. Tousled golden hair, crumpled shirt, incredibly blue eyes... His partner was...gorgeous. 

Suddenly, they stood close to each other, so close...

For a split second, their lips brushed each other. 

***

_A morning draft swept the alley, causing the dust to swirl, erasing the tiny footprints._

***

Alexander Waverly considered his agents. “Our technicians found out about the device, gentlemen.” He checked his pipe. “It's a light-producing system, based on the spectrum...” He paused.

Illya Kuryakin turned to his partner. “Of course, Napoleon, you know about the spectrum?”

Napoleon rolled his eyes, comically. Waverly frowned.

“The beam looked like a rainbow, a very beautiful but very deadly one. It was a prototype... Let's hope that the plans were destroyed, too...” He pointed at the Russian. “And, Mr. Kuryakin, according our technicians, eventually, it was a false move...” 

“Poetic justice...”

The Russian had his familiar half smile, his “ _you-can-think-what-you-want_ ” one.

Waverly dismissed them.

As they were walking along the hallway, Illya stopped, gave his pocket a tap and cursed.

“What...?” Napoleon asked.

“The notebook... I... I think I dropped it in the park...” He frowned, rummaged through a pocket, through another one. Suddenly, he froze.

“Illya?”

Slowly, the Russian pulled something out his pocket.

“Illya? What...”

Illya Kuryakin unclenched his fist. A small thing was twinkling in his palm... Golden...

“What is this?” Napoleon tilted his head, staring at his friend who considered the strange piece of metal with amazement and... yes, delight. “Illya? What is this?”

The Russian smiled. “This, Napoleon, is a nugget.”

“A... nugget? You mean... this is....”

“Gold.”

“Gold?”

Illya bit his lips and looked around. “Perhaps, we could go to your home...” His eyes were twinkling. “We could have breakfast... and I could tell you about...” He smiled, “rainbow and nuggets...”

Napoleon rubbed his chin. “Strange things happened, this night...” He chuckled, gently grabbing the other man's arm.

 

##  _Sometimes, you get to the end of the rainbow, and you find out the leprechauns booby-trapped it._

(Transformers)


End file.
